Smith's Story
by Citti Kitty Monroe
Summary: This is Smith's story. What if that bug put into people isn't just a tracking device? PG because of some freaky scenes. No slash!I don't think there is bad language. Completed!
1. Something's wrong with Smith

Smith's Story  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own The Matrix, nor do I own any of the copyright characters portrayed in this story. It's a sad one, so be careful.  
  
Chapter 1: Something's wrong with Smith  
  
The room was quiet. It had been that way for over an hour.  
  
Agents Brown and Jones didn't walk in to ask what he was or wasn't doing, or tell him that something was amiss. Smith already had enough amiss things happening to him. He lay on a bunk, grasping his head and trembling.  
  
For the last couple of days, Smith was unable to sleep, which is usually normal for an agent, but sleep as in . . . be isolated from the other agents.  
  
To keep to himself, and just . . . relax. However, recently, strange images have been surfacing in his mind. Images that confuse him so much.  
  
They start with a man in his office suit working at his desk. He's focused . . . very focused on his work . . . but he wishes he could be home with his family, spending time with the kids and his wife.  
  
He smiles at the thought of it.  
  
Then, everything goes dark, and when the image returns, there are now two men inside the office also. One is short, and the other is dark skinned and tall. The man gets up and tries to escape the suits, but they grab him and beat him.  
  
Then, a picture appears in the darkness. It shows two children, a woman and the office man, smiling . . . the picture then rips in half, catches fire, and explodes into ashes.  
  
Smith sat up, sweat pouring off him. His pulse had quickened immensely. It was strange . . . this feeling of relief that it was just a dream, and not reality.  
  
What is reality?  
  
Smith looked at the doorway to see Brown and Jones standing there. There was silence for a few moments.  
  
"Are you alright, Smith?" Brown asked, concerned, even though he was an agent.  
  
Smith looked disgusted at him, "That is irrelevant information." He couldn't believe how Brown was acting . . . how Brown AND Jones were acting.  
  
"Well, we heard you screaming . . . we came to - -" Brown started.  
  
"What are you!? My parents?! Get back to work, you fools!" Smith shouted.  
  
Brown and Jones looked at each other, then left after closing the door.  
  
Smith shook his head and got off the bunk. He walked towards the large window and touched the glass.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The office man managed to grab hold of the dark skinned man and throw him out the window, causing the glass to ripple . . . wait, glass doesn't ripple!  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith immediately took his hand off the glass. He exhaled sadly. "What's going on? Where do these images come from!? I do not know this man. Well, it is irrelevant anyway-"  
  
A sudden noise caught his attention. It sounded like the shattering of glass.  
  
Smith ran out of his room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. He found Agent Brown and Agent Jones staring at the floor where a plate lay shattered. They were like two children . . . children . . .  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
"Nathan! Katrina!" yelled the man, running to clean up the broken glass.  
  
The children looked up at him. "We're sorry, dad." One of them sighed.  
  
"We wanted to help mom with the dishes before she got home . . ." said the other.  
  
"Well, you two could have been badly hurt. Now, if you need anything, just ask daddy, ok? Alright, Nathan? Katrina?"  
  
(End Image)  
  
"What?" Brown broke the silence.  
  
Smith snapped back. He'd been staring at the plate in silence . . . or, at least he'd HOPED he'd been staring at it in silence.  
  
"Hmm?" Smith replied.  
  
"You . . . just called us Nathan and Katrina, sir . . ." Brown informed.  
  
"Well, said the names out loud is more like it." Jones corrected.  
  
Smith felt a heat travel through his body. This must be what embarrassment felt like. He stared wide-eyed at his two colleagues, then ran out of the kitchen.  
  
"Sir?" Brown called.  
  
A/N: Well! Not bad for a first chapter, eh? So, what do you think is up with Smith? And where are all these weird images coming from? R & R please! And no flames, please. 


	2. The images are getting stronger

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyright characters from the Matrix, nor do I own the Matrix. I am simply using them for my (and everyone else's) amusement. However, since this is a tragic story, there is no amusement. (Laughs) No flames, please!  
  
Chapter 2: The images are getting stronger.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The office man tore down the streets. A mad panic was within him as a black car veered towards him from behind. Then, the man stopped as he saw the black skinned person he's killed earlier standing in front of him, gun cocked and ready to fire. The office man calmly raised his hands in defeat.  
  
(End image)  
  
Smith ran trough the rainy streets of town. He came to a dock, stopped, and then retched over the side. A nearby boatsman who was on duty watched him oddly. "Probably drunk." He chuckled, then began reading his newspaper again.  
  
Smith had run for more than an hour, at high speed, and the blurring lights, spinning streetlights, blaring horns and images in his head went by so fast that they were enough to make anyone hurl.  
  
Smith wiped his mouth, then sat on the dock. He removed his sunglasses and made circular motions on his eyelids. He was tired, didn't want to sleep. He was afraid of what he might see.  
  
(Begin image)  
  
The man was seated in the interrogation room. The tall one spoke to hi for a long time, but nothing went right. The short one grabbed the office man and forced him to lie down on the table. The office man looked afraid when the tall one pulled out a strange looking bug thing.  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith grasped his head and screamed. He couldn't stand it any longer. He didn't know this man, and he certainly didn't want to. He got ready to retch again, but his shoulders were grabbed.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The short one held him down by the shoulders as the bug the tall one released began to crawl into the office man's navel. The tall one held him down as the office man shrieked in pain and fear.  
  
(End Image)  
  
Quickly, Smith turned around and punched his attacker in the jaw, knocking him into the water. "Get away from me!" Smith yelled.  
  
The other figure that was there cocked his head to the side. "Smith?"  
  
It was Jones. He was standing there, holding a newspaper. Smith looked to where his attacker had fallen. Brown surface, looking quite unhappy.  
  
Jones helped Brown back up on the dock, and for a split second, Smith noticed a small smirk play on Jones' face. He must've thought Brown's fall was hilarious.  
  
Brown was soaked, and was being weighed down by his jacket. "Hello to you, too, Smith." Brown growled, trying his best to dry off his glasses.  
  
"Wha - - -?" Smith was flustered.  
  
"You were hurling over the side of the dock, sir. We wanted to help you." Jones informed.  
  
Smith looked at them. 'Why are they so concerned about me?!' he thought.  
  
Then, the disgust of his colleagues being too human came back to his mind. He turned his head away from them and scoffed. "You two are too human. It's repulsive. I don't like it. If you want to help me, just shut up."  
  
Brown was about to counter, but Smith raised his hand and silences him. "Bite your tongue, Brown. I don't need an insignificant, irrelevant comment from you, or Jones. Let's go."  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The man awoke in his bed, screaming "no". He looked around. He was in his bedroom, and his wife was staring up at him while lying next to him.  
  
"... Honey? Are you all right? You screamed so loud for a long time . . . I was afraid you weren't going to wake up." She said, her voice shaky as if she would cry at any moment.  
  
The man lied back down, breathing more calmly now. "I'm fine." He replied.  
  
She placed a hand on his chest, "You sure?"  
  
He stared into her green eyes and sighed. "Yeah . . ."  
  
(End Image)  
  
A/N: Don't worry, Smith didn't say any of that last image out loud. So, the mystery is starting to unfold, but no one knows who this man is! Could it be Neo? Even though Neo isn't married, and this is WAY before Smith even meets Neo . . . I wonder . . .  
  
By the way, I say "informed" way too much. Oh well. I'm going to call that my "Agents Brown and Jones word". ^_^ They seem to use it a lot. Well . . . so does Smith and everyone else . . . oh well.  
  
R & R! No flames, please! 


	3. The images turned to children

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyright characters portrayed in this story, nor do I own the Matrix. No flames, please.  
  
Chapter: The images change to children . . .  
  
Smith walked downtown. It was daytime now, and Smith had gone through another sleepless night.  
  
Brown and Jones were walking silently behind him. Brown was somewhat hurt by Smith's words, and Jones was neutral, as always. Except for the little quick smirks now and then.  
  
Smith heard the soft melody of a violin. He looked to the side of a building, and there was a homeless man with a violin case open. He was playing a soft and beautiful melody on his violin, and god knows where he picked it up. (The violin)  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The office man smiled at his daughter, Katrina. She was sitting in her room on the floor playing the violin her father got her for her birthday. She was playing a beautiful melody, and humming along with it.  
  
"That's beautiful, darling. I'm impressed." He smiled.  
  
"I love you, daddy. I'm glad you got this for me. It's so nice to play when I'm lonely or afraid, or when you aren't here . . . it reminds me of you." Katrina said.  
  
The man knelt down beside his daughter. "I will never leave you alone, Katrina. Even if I'm at work, or out of town, I promise you I will never leave you absolutely alone. You'll always be in my heart."  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith held his head for a minute. Brown and Jones caught up with him and were confused. Brown was about to speak up, but Jones raised his hand and shook his head. They watched Smith walk away from the homeless man. He'd taken out his earphone for awhile.  
  
Brown looked at Jones, then took a dollar from his own pocket.  
  
Smith stopped dead as he heard the cold clink of a coin fall into the case. He turned around to see Brown wave at the now happier man and began talking with Jones. Smith waited until Brown was close enough, then he punched Brown in the face.  
  
Jones looked alarmed at Smith as Brown stared in shock at the Agent that punched him. Brown held the place where he was hit.  
  
"Get up." Smith ordered.  
  
Brown obeyed and got up. Smith grabbed him by the collar. "Go and take that coin back. We don't help the weak!"  
  
Brown didn't reply.  
  
"Go, now!" Smith ordered angrily.  
  
"No." Brown replied. It was like a small child standing up to a big bully.  
  
Smith grabbed Brown's sunglasses and threw them away. He looked at Brown's eyes, and stopped his rage. The same sleepless eyes that Smith showed were now staring back at him. Brown was also not sleeping, and was probably going through the same problem.  
  
'Was . . . is Brown seeing things that never happened as well? Is this why he's acting so strangely?' Smith thought.  
  
He let go of Brown, picked up the glasses, and gave them back to Brown. Brown, shakily, took them and placed them back on again.  
  
Smith ran to a park with a big field. He stared at a little sand base where kids would play baseball.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The man pitched the ball at his son, who swung at it, sending it high up.  
  
"Whoo! Look't her fly! That was great!" the man cheered. He looked at his son, who wasn't as enthusiastic. Nathan was sitting on the base, and looking at the ground.  
  
"Hey, little guy. What is it?" the man asked, kneeling down beside his son.  
  
"I . . . I just wish you were always around . . . like, at school when I practice . . ." Nathan replied.  
  
"Why?" the man asked.  
  
"You're the only one that actually cheers me on. You help me . . . everyone on both teams always cyke me out, or get really mad at me if I screw up . . ." Nathan sniffed.  
  
"Hey, don't listen to 'em. They don't run your life! You run your own! If you mess up, who cares!? Hold your head up high, and if they give you any flack, stick out your tongue. If this is how they treat you, you don't need 'em. Ok?" the man smiled.  
  
Nathan grinned, "Yeah. Thanks, dad." He hugged his father.  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith screamed again while grasping his head. This didn't make any sense anymore, excluding the fact that it never did. He turned around to see Jones and Brown again, staring at him.  
  
He decided that he no longer wanted them around him today. He walked up to them, grabbed his gun, and pointed it at Jones, then at Brown. "Leave, now." Smith ordered.  
  
Jones was about to reach for his own gun, but Smith cocked his first. "No." he growled.  
  
Jones and Brown looked at each other, then turned around and left.  
  
Smith put his gun back and began walking into the neighbourhood.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The office man held his stomach. He felt nauseous as he walked around downtown. He's promised his family he'd be home for their Anniversary. He and his wife's 27th Anniversary was today. He thought about his nightmare, and his stomach was wrenching. It felt like something was actually inside him. Like he's swallowed a worm, or something.  
  
Then, the pain became excruciating. He doubled over in an alley, but didn't throw up. He kept feeling as if he'd explode. He cried out, begging for help as his clothes began to change . . . his memories leave him.  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith sighed, and found he was looking for a certain house in particular. Maybe if he found it, it would end his suffering.  
  
He walked down the street until he came across a large white coloured house. The door was planked shut, as well as the windows. Smith walked towards the door, and his pulse quickened. Something was wrong with this house, though he did not know what. Smith opened the door after ripping off the planks. He entered, and the Chaos began.  
  
A/N: oooh. what's gonna happen?! It's weird, I'll ye that. It'll be up by tomorrow, I hope.  
  
(By the way, the 27th Anniversary thing is in homage to Orlando Bloom. Happy 27th birthday, Bloom boy! It's January 13th today!) 


	4. Rejecting the Truth

Disclaimer: Yes yes, I don't own any of the copyright stuff! No flames, please.  
  
Chapter 4: Rejecting the Truth  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
The man looked very different when he got home. He was wearing a black suit, a black tie, a white shirt, black pants, black shiny shoes, black sunglasses and owned a very smooth looking car. He also now had a gun, and an earphone. He walked calmly up the steps and into his house.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy!" squealed the children as they raced through the living room and towards him. They stopped in fear when they saw how their father looked.  
  
"Dad?" Nathan asked.  
  
"Daddy?" Katrina asked also.  
  
His wife walked into the room. She was drying off a plate. "Smith, honey?" She looked him over. "What happened to you, Smith?"  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith fell to his knees, grasping his head. He realized the truth. He was that man. That HUMAN. He found himself screaming and begging his mind to show no more, but the part he knew was coming was about to show.  
  
(Begin Image)  
  
Smith held up his gun, cocked it, then spoke; "You know information that no longer exists and is otherwise irrelevant." He began firing the gun, continuously.  
  
The screams of pain and fear blared around the house, but none of them were louder than the gunshots from Smith.  
  
(End Image)  
  
Smith began crying. He saw the gunshots on the old walls. He curled up on the floor and began sobbing quietly.  
  
"I killed them all . . . my family . . . right on our Anniversary . . ." he sobbed.  
  
"Yep, it's a hard thing to accept." Said another voice.  
  
Smith looked up to see that tall dark-skinned agent from his memories.  
  
"Hello, Agent Smith." Said the agent.  
  
Smith was confused to see him. "I thought you were deleted . . ."  
  
"Yes, so do most Agents. I just chose another job." He stepped over to a hole in the wall, and cleaned out some of the dust with his finger, "You may call me Agent Wallace."  
  
Smith turned away from him and sobbed again.  
  
Wallace looked around the broken home. "This house . . . it's a special thing. We built this house just for you, Smith. Everyone wanted it because it was the best there ever was. You didn't just win it by chance, Smith, we let you win it so we could bend you to our will. 'Course, things got a bit complicated . . . you went and got married then had two children. This made things difficult because we knew it would be harder to separate you from them. So, Agent Brown and I waited until you were a much smarter, respected and dignified man.  
  
Smith stared at him when he said Brown.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, right. Does it surprise you that Brown had helped me?" Wallace asked, then he chuckled, "Well, you see . . . Brown is probably the oldest Agent out of you three. I believe he's been in about . . . oh, about 3 different versions of the Matrix. No one deleted him because he's very smart, obedient and useful. His human body, on the other hand, isn't older than you, Smith. He was about 34, just turning 35 when we turned him into an Agent. You are 43! So, when you became an Agent, you became the boss, then recruited Jones who was a well respected, funny, man. He had a good life, but that's beside the point."  
  
Smith couldn't believe he was hearing this. He always thought Brown was the weakest agent of them all, but he was actually the best!  
  
"'Course, after all this time, Brown is finally going on the fritz, like you. However, instead of just going and rebooting him now, I'll let him figure out his mystery." Wallace explained.  
  
Smith sobbed again. He was thinking of the tracking device the Agents used, "I thought that bug was just a tracking device . . ."  
  
"It is . . . but it has a better use. For example, the Zionites offer a red pill that will track a person and bring them to their side. We do the same." Wallace stared at the pitiful looking, crying Agent. "I knew you couldn't handle the truth."  
  
Wallace looked up. "Anyway, back to the house. After awhile, the machines wanted to get rid of this house and replace it with something else. I changed their mind, because this is my place of work! I'm the Agent that reboots the others and makes sure they don't remember who or what they were." Wallace sat down on an overly dust couch.  
  
Smith covered his eyes, "I killed my wife . . . my kids . . . all because of the Matrix."  
  
"Hey, if it weren't for the Matrix, you and your family wouldn't even be related!" Wallace defended.  
  
"It isn't fair, though . . . The thing that fuels me to hate humans is the rejection of memories . . . my memories . . ." Smith said between soft sobs.  
  
Wallace relaxed for a minute. "Oh, there's a thing in the house," he got up, "Um, it's pretty much intact, I suppose." Wallace pulled open the floorboards and pulled out a case. "Here."  
  
Smith took it and opened it. He sobbed softly again.  
  
It was Katrina's violin. It was a bit damaged, as if someone had landed on it, or threw it. Smith sobbed quietly and knelt down again. He touched it to his brow and sighed.  
  
Wallace stood beside Smith. "I'm at your service, m'boy."  
  
Smith's tears landed on the violin. He couldn't believe it. They were gone because of him.  
  
"Just . . . make them go away . . ." he sobbed softly, "Make them leave me alone . . ."  
  
Wallace placed a hand on Smith's shoulder. "That's my job, Agent Smith, that's my job."  
  
END STORY  
  
A/N: What a sad, kinky, freaky story! Maybe I should write one about Agent  
Brown! Or maybe Jones . . . Please R & R! No flames, please! This story is now finished, but the memory  
shall live on! 


End file.
